


Happy Birthday, John

by stravaganza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Mary is a good wife, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Blowjobs, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, First Time, French Kissing, Gay Sex, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Slash, Military Kink, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Smut, Threesome, don't be mistaken there is no infantilism in this, handjobs, implied John Watson/Mary Morstan - Freeform, john is married, mentions of internalised biphobia, not putting it in the relationship tag because it doesn't belong there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John's birthday. His wife, Mary, has the perfect gift for him. After all, she has always known that his husband isn't 100% straight... So, she set up a fun night for him.<br/><br/>I was supposed to post this on the 20th of April, the day we know as John's birthday from last year's Sherlocked, but alas, I was too slow!<br/><br/><i>"He still didn’t know how he had let Mary convince him to do this, without even speaking to him. Nor did he know how she had found out about his inner desires. But the fact remained that she had, and that she had decided to take advantage of it to ‘surprise’ John.</i><br/><br/><i>And what a damn surprise it was."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, John

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read, there are a couple of things I want to specify:  
> 1) It's not specified whether Sherlock and James are prostitutes Mary hired or just friends of hers: it's up to you how to read it;  
> 2) Sherlock is crossdressing in this. His gender is not specified, although he presents as a man, so you can read it however you like. (Personally, I usually see him as genderfluid.) This is in no way meant as an insult to trans or non-binary folks!!  
> 3) James has no scars or mobility problems in this. It's not even specified whether he was an actual soldier at some point or he's just acting. (My idea is that he was kicked out of the military because he was found fraternizing with another man before the law allowed for gay men to join the army, but once again you can read this however you prefer!)
> 
> That said, please enjoy!!

John had a feeling he shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t an ominous feeling of impending doom, like the one he had felt in Afghanistan whenever he had ended up on the front lines, where he knew he wasn’t supposed to be because _you’re our damn medic, Watson, you can’t get shot!_ It wasn’t fear for his life then, really, more fear of disciplinary sanctions due to his insubordination.

The irony of actually being shot when he wasn’t even on the battlefield taunted him day after day, but it was alright. The camp had been attacked and he’d saved as many lives as he could, down to shielding an injured soldier with his body and playing dead until they were left in peace. He wouldn’t change that.

But still, he felt like he was doing something wrong and that he would be punished for that. By whom, he wouldn’t know, since he had Mary’s blessing.

Or, rather, since this appeared to be Mary’s birthday present for him. It wasn’t cheating, technically, but it still felt like it was. He had always been taught that family was important, that marriage was sacred and that there was nothing that mattered more than being a good father and husband. That those qualities were what defined a man, a good man, and a good man was all John Watson had ever wanted to be.

He had never done anything less than what his family had expected from him, even if that wasn’t always what he wanted to do, and even if it hadn’t been enough to keep them all together, in the end. He had been a good school boy, a good son, a good sportsman.

When Harriett had left home, shamed by their father for her sexuality, John had supported her with what finances he could spare from his university fees. When his mother had fallen ill, he had helped her until the end, spending nights at the hospital and praying deities he barely believed in. When his father had fallen to alcoholism, he had done all he could to help. And even though that had all been useless, in the end, he liked to think that it had made a small difference, somehow.

But, in all his years, he had been painfully aware of a part of himself that he had kept carefully hidden from everyone, even himself. After what had happened with his sister, he had never dared to explore the side of him that he knew to be gay. He had researched, of course; he knew he was bisexual. But he was happy with women, so why risk what he had for something that would be twice as hard?

He had always felt like a coward for it, for denying part of his nature, pretending it didn’t exist, and consequentially betraying his sister, even though she didn’t know it. Sure, she’d always teased him for his close male friendships, and even more so for his time in the army, but…

Well. She _had_ been right about the army, a bit. It had been nice to be surrounded by hot, strong guys with muscular bodies and steely gazes… Only problem was, they were mostly his superiors. All other men were either younger and inexperienced or on his same level, making it hard to look at them like that. It was a good thing, really.

John shook his head, banishing the thought. He wasn’t going to meet any of his comrades, here. No, far from it. He still didn’t know how he had let Mary convince him to do this, without even speaking to him. Nor did he know how she had found out about his inner desires. But the fact remained that she had, and that she had decided to take advantage of it to ‘surprise’ John.

And what a damn surprise it was.

An empty house with nothing but a hotel key and a note on the kitchen table reading,

 _My beloved John,_  
_If you’re reading this, it means you came home to an empty flat… Fear not! I am at Janine’s, we’re going to have dinner together and then watch romantic movies and cry our eyes out, maybe do some online shopping for the baby… You know, ‘girl’ things._  
_I do know today’s your birthday. I can almost picture your frown (you’re adorable, you know that?) and I can almost hear you grumble something vague about birthday sex._  
_Don’t fret, all has been cunningly planned (by me!) to give you the most memorable birthday sex ever._  
_Because I have noticed (and both your sister and Mike agree with me) that you, mister, check men out as much as you do women. Me (well, we) thinks it’s because you’re attracted to men, at least a little bit._  
_Of course, I may be wrong. That’s why there’s a hotel key with this note, and why you haven’t returned home to a hot guy in his underwear waiting to have his way with you._  
_But! Should I be right… Which I am… Well, let’s say that there’s a nice surprise waiting for you in a hotel room. Although I’ve probably spoilt it already._  
_I’ve paid everything already. You just have to make up your mind and GO! HAVE! FUN!_

 _Faithfully yours,_  
_the best wife in the world_  
_Mary_

_PS: Oh, and… happy birthday, John. ;)_

Perhaps it had been so startling that John’s immediate reaction had been to obey. Perhaps, he hadn’t even thought about it: Mary and he often joked about her ability to know what was best for him before John himself did.

Still, the fact remained that he had left his house again, barely remembering to put his coat back on, forewent any thought about dinner, and drove to the hotel Mary had written about, the address scribbled in lieu of an address on the back of the folded note. He had clutched the keys inside his coat’s pocket – old fashioned, with a big keychain, none of that electronic nonsense – and had headed upstairs.

Second floor, room 221.

He had sat on the bed, his coat discarded on an armchair by a small desk, and had yet to move. The only part of him that showed he was still alive was the clench of nervous fingers against the fabric of his jeans as he clutched his knees and let go almost rhythmically.

If John had bothered to glance to his watch, he would have known it had been half an hour since his arrival. Half an hour spent wondering who’d cross the threshold. Half an hour spent fearing that Mary would barge in, ready to make a fool of him, or to accuse him of being a cheater in the making… Half an hour spent eviscerating his brain with worries when the door finally opened.

He was about to stand up to greet whomever was the new arrival, but he froze before he could do anything more than stare. Because the man wasn’t a friend of his, nor of Mary, and he definitely was not Mary herself. What he was, is the most beautiful man John had ever seen.

He was tall, skin like fresh snow and curly hair made of ebony, lips as pink and lovely as a rose’s petal, his eyes verdigris and penetrating, slightly widened as if in surprise – as if he didn’t know John was going to be there.

Except, that wasn’t possible, because despite the red blush on his high, sculpted cheekbones, the man broke into a huge smile as soon as he saw John. As if he had been waiting for him, and not the other way around.

“You came!” he said happily, in a voice so surprisingly deep that it sent a shiver down John’s spine.

The man entered the room fully and closed the door behind him, and John finally stood as the stranger took his long coat off, making John’s knees go weak. Because, under that greatcoat, the man was wearing little to nothing. He wasn’t exactly naked, but he was wearing a see-through white button-down blouse that hung a bit too loosely on his lithe body, the sleeves large and ending in two cuffs tight on his wrists, held together by pearly buttons. The shirt was tucked into the snug, wide waistband of a deep purple pleated skirt, complete with frilly white petticoat, that didn’t reach halfway down his shapely thighs, wrapped in white stockings. John could have sworn he saw the teasing glimpse of a garter belt peeking from beneath the folds of the skirt, but then his eyes wandered to the man’s feet, encased in a pair of shiny black Mary Jane leather shoes.

All in all, the man was pretty as a picture, and John had to reconsider his thoughts about the ‘school girl’ fantasy. He could see the appeal of it right at that moment.

Before John could say anything, the man was kicking the coat away from the door and walking towards him. John saw playfulness and mischief in his eyes, all mixed with a perfectly innocent blink of long lashes fluttering over perfect cheekbones.

Except even that show of innocence was short-lived, because when John looked more closely at the man he realized he was wearing a man-fitting bra beneath his sheer blouse. A white, lacey bra that didn’t seem to hold any breasts – too much like a child’s bra for his tastes.

“There must have been a mistake,” John said when he finally managed to get his mouth to work, even though his tongue felt as parched as a bible. He was beginning to fear a joke, because he wasn’t into this sort of thing.

Was he? The outfit _did_ make heat coil into his stomach, after all…

The man’s smile was angelic as he put his hands on John’s shoulder. He was a good head taller than him, and that helped cutting down the guilt John felt for being aroused. This man was nothing like a young girl after all, and the way his eyes seemed to study him and turn colder, for a moment, helped give a finishing touch to that.

“No mistakes, daddy. I asked you to come play with me and here you are,” he said, batting his eyelashes again before leaning down to whisper in John’s ear, “Just let go… let’s have fun before you have to return to your wife.”

That sent a whole other kind of shiver down John’s spine, and he finally understood. Did Mary set up a younger lover fantasy of some sort? Or was the outfit just supposed to ease him into being with a man?

Either way, John couldn’t contain himself any longer. He had to turn his head and press his lips to the man’s impossibly smooth jawline, eyelids falling closed. He inhaled, taking in the man’s scent, strong and masculine beneath the delicate cover of vanilla perfume, and he only opened his eyes and pulled away a bit to inquire, “What’s your name?”

The man looked back at him and acted coy, tilting his head to look at him through his eyelashes.

“Sherlock. But you can call me anything you want, daddy.”

If someone had told John he would enjoy being called daddy in a sexual fantasy setting, he would have laughed at them. He had never liked that sort of thing, found it offensive, even, more so now that he was going to be a father soon.

But the way Sherlock said it, the inflection that deep voice gave to the word, the way those sinful lips curved into a small smile as he spoke… John felt all his blood rush south so fast that he thought he would pass out.

He took a small step forward, until he was pressed flush against the man’s front, and turned his head until he was nosing right at the man’s – _Sherlock’s_ – pulse point, taking in his scent once more.

“So, you wouldn’t mind it if I called you ‘mine’…?” he inquired softly, his own voice going deep with arousal, and he felt Sherlock shiver against him.

Sherlock gave a soft giggle and turned his head as well, so he could run the tip of his nose against John’s temple, his breath ruffling John’s hair and tickling him.

“Of course I don’t mind, daddy,” he said, and that was all the encouragement John needed.

He raised his hands and let them touch the tempting display before his eyes, his fingers finally skirting over Sherlock’s thigh, the silky stockings giving way to garters and even softer skin as John let his fingers explore upwards, beneath Sherlock’s pretty petticoat.

John squeezed the firm muscles of the younger man’s strong thighs, feeling him tremble against him and moan softly in that velvety voice of his as John let his fingers wander up and up, until he had two handfuls of the plusher, nicest arse he had ever laid eyes on.

“Good… That’s very good. You’ll see, baby, I’ll make you feel so good,” John whispered against Sherlock’s ear, kissing his pulse point once more, only to then move up to suck his earlobe gently, liking the way the man’s breath hitched.

“O-oh, daddy… I want to make you feel good, too,” Sherlock said, his voice coy as he squirmed a bit, pressing himself more tightly against John.

The doctor shivered as he felt Sherlock’s erection pressing against his body. For all that the man’s appearance had excited him – he was, after all, a real beauty – nothing set him on fire like that small touch did. To feel another man’s cock pressing against his stomach was like taking his years of repression and setting them free.

John positively growled and lifted Sherlock enough to turn them around and let him fall on the bed. Like this, sprawled on his back, his skirts ruffled and his legs bent at the knee, hands resting on his chest, Sherlock was the image of virginal innocence. Or, he would be, John thought, if it weren’t for the blackness of his pupils, for the way the folds of his skirt seemed to outline the hard cock hidden beneath them, and for the way he parted both lips and legs as if in invitation.

Wasting no time, John took his jumper off, letting it fall to the ground carelessly as he straddled Sherlock’s hips. He was about to begin unbuttoning his shirt as well, but Sherlock was faster, and his elegant fingers soon had the task started. John used that saved time to cup the man’s face and lean in, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth.

Sherlock let out a small noise before he parted his lips, one hand pushing John’s shirt back while the other went up to grasp the back of the doctor’s head, tugging gently at his hair. The almost tentative gesture sent another burst of flames running through John’s bloodstream, and he bit Sherlock’s bottom lip, making the man gasp. He did it again, feeling Sherlock’s back arch beneath him, and then he licked the offended flesh in apology, sucking on it gently to make the man tremble again.

When he succeeded, he gentled the contact, pressing his tongue between Sherlock’s lips, caressing the hot, velvety inside of his mouth as their heated contact turned into a proper kiss.

Slowly, John undid the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt as well, letting his hands roam on the warm planes of Sherlock’s body for a moment before he allowed the both of them to part so they could shrug their shirts off.

Sherlock took advantage of that moment to push John back, reversing their positions: he was now between John’s legs, his covered erection pressing against John’s, and this position made John’s mind hazy with desire.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his hands returning to Sherlock’s strong thighs. He stroked them for a moment while he regained his breath, watching the man above him undo the cuffs of his shirt and letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric. John was still wearing his undershirt, and he had never regretted layering as much as he did now.

John’s mind supplied him with images of Sherlock riding his cock, still wearing his skirt and shoes, but John shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want this to end so soon. This would probably be his only chance to let this part of him free, and he couldn’t miss it.

“I want to see you… All of you,” he said, his voice wavering as he was already panting with arousal.

Sherlock looked coy again, fluttering his eyelashes at John. He went to undo the zipper in his skirt and then, without moving from on top of him, he pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor to join his shirt.

John stared at him, taking in his form.

What he had mistaken for a petticoat was actually the lacy hem of a pair of snow-white knickers, now straining a bit to contain Sherlock’s erection. The line of the knickers ended in two wings of lace that joined in the middle, falling rumpled on Sherlock’s thighs, stopping midway to his knees.

“Am I pretty for you, daddy?” Sherlock asked after a moment of silence, and John snapped out of his reverie, without having realized he hadn’t been moving at all.

“Oh, baby, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” John said in a whisper.

It made his heart ache to think about the truth in that statement. He had never felt as much attraction for Mary – beautiful, sweet, kind Mary – as he did now for this man and his hard lines. Where she was round and soft, he was flat and muscled, his stomach well defined and his arms lean but strong. Where Mary had wet, velvety folds, Sherlock had a hot, hard cock standing proudly… And John couldn’t wait to see and touch it.

He wanted to put his mouth on it.

John reached forward and cupped Sherlock’s erection, letting out a soft gasp at the feeling of another man in his hand. Even through the lace, there was no mistaking Sherlock’s body, and John shivered when the man above him shook with pleasure.

“I want to see you,” John repeated, his voice firmer than it was before.

Sherlock smirked and nodded, reaching to push aside the ruffles covering him up, and John watched as he blushed, before redirecting his gaze down between his legs. John felt himself flush as well at the sight.

Because what he was seeing was the cutest penis John had ever seen in his life, medical career included, small and pink and covered by sheer white lace.

“Do you like me, daddy?” Sherlock said, but John was too busy to reply.

He pulled Sherlock closer, pushed his knickers aside with his left hand. The right remained firm on one of Sherlock’s cheeks as he held the man there, until he was practically straddling his face. John reached out with his tongue and pressed it against the tip of Sherlock’s tiny cock, eager to taste him.

John wanted to see if he could fit the whole of him in his mouth, and he was thrilled to find out that yes, he really could, and he could suck the man off as if he’d been doing it his whole life because he fit _so_ perfectly inside his mouth… He could lick the underside with his tongue and suck at the same time, no trouble breathing whatsoever, and if he bobbed his head it was just to stimulate him more, to massage the glans with his lips… He could even keep enough lucidity to run a hand up Sherlock’s back while the man panted and moaned in pleasure, his long hands curled into balls on John’s undershirt.

“O-o-oh, daddy, d-daddy, you’ll make me come!” he whimpered, writhing on top of John as if he didn’t know whether to pull away or push closer.

John hummed around him, ready to reassure him, to tell him without words that _we have all night, baby, just relax and come for me_ , when the door opened.

John was so shocked he nearly bit down, but Sherlock was fast to pull out as they jolted in a sitting position. The doctor’s heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he tried to remember if they’d locked the door or not, but he couldn’t remember. Sherlock hadn’t had a key when he’d entered, John had left the door unlocked without thinking that these were old-fashioned doors that didn’t lock automatically–

He immediately thought it would be Mary, this time, for sure. Ready to catch him red-handed and ask for a divorce. Perhaps this _had_ just been a ruse, in the end. He thought it might be someone who’d entered the wrong room, perhaps even a maid thinking the room was vacant, but all this thoughts died when he saw who had just entered the room.

It was another man John had never seen in his life, but if Sherlock had been downright affectionate from the start in his cute, porcelain doll outfit and innocent girl persona… This man was anything but.

He was tall, even taller than Sherlock was, and his shoulders were twice as wide. He was built like a brick shithouse, really, with piercing pale blue eyes and sparse gingery hair, a grave demeanour on his severe features.

He was beautiful, in a completely different way from Sherlock.

And – John was shocked to find that this detail made his hard cock _ache_ with desire – he was wearing desert coloured fatigues.

There was a moment of startled silence as the man scanned the room with his icy gaze, Sherlock’s eyes as wide as saucers with fear, and then the man entered the room, closing – and locking – the door behind him.

“S-sir,” Sherlock said immediately, not moving from his spot as the man took a step into the room and came to stand in the middle of the room.

He stopped two paces from the bed and settled himself in a parade rest, turning to look at Sherlock and ignoring John for the moment.

“I’m very, very disappointed in you, Private,” he said, his voice as cold as it was deep. “What a shameful display.”

“I’m sorry, Major Sholto, sir.” Sherlock bowed his head, contrite, and John’s brain whirred as he tried to connect the dots.

But the situation only clicked when that penetrating gaze fell on him, and the man addressed John, tutting.

“And you. Is this how you train crows? I was expecting more from you, Captain Watson.”

 _Oh_ , John thought, his eyes going wide. _Oh, Mary, you’re the best wife ever_. How did she even know that this had been one of his fantasies when in Afghanistan? Being caught doing something naughty by one of his superiors and being shown his place?

“Sir,” John said, swallowing thickly. “It’s not what you think–” he started, only for the man’s eyes to flash briefly with amusement.

Still, he didn’t break character as he barked, “Silence! The situation is very clear to me, Watson. You’re taking advantage of a recruit, and I’ll have to punish the both of you accordingly,” he stated, solemnly. Then his eyes wandered between the two of them, lingering on Sherlock’s undressed form, and then falling to the bulge in John’s trousers. “But there is a way for this to be kept quiet. If you do as I say, you won’t be court martialled,” he said in a low, secretive voice.

“Oh, please, sir! I’ll do anything,” Sherlock said immediately, and John swallowed as he imagined where this was going to go.

The small smirk on Major Sholto’s face confirmed it.

“Since you like sucking cock so much, Captain, perhaps you would like to come over here and be a good slut for me?” he said, his voice pitched even lower, his eyelids dropping as he looked at John with darkening eyes.

There it was. Lust pierced John like a spear, and he didn’t even realize he was moving until his knees were hitting the hardwood floor. He looked up at the man, only to realize he wasn’t sure what to do. He was just very, very eager.

Major Sholto put a hand on the back of John’s head and tugged at his hair, until John was looking up at him. His eyes must have still been wide, because Sholto’s gaze gentled a bit as he asked, “Have you ever done this, Captain?”

John shook his head. “Not before tonight, sir,” he answered, truthfully.

“Well then, this will be a lesson for the both of you,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll start slow. Unzip me.”

John didn’t need repeating. He was harder than he’d ever been without having been touched first, his cock pressing against the front of his trousers as his hands fumbled with Sholto’s belt. He couldn’t get rid of it fast enough, and he nearly hurt himself when he undid the button and zipper.

Soon enough, John was tugging down Major Sholto’s trousers, finding himself face to face with an intimidatingly tented pair of boxer briefs. Behind him, he heard Sherlock letting out a small noise, and to his surprise John felt his mouth water.

He reached, tentatively, to tug Sholto’s boxers down, and he felt the Major’s fingers tightening in his hair.

“Careful, now,” he said. “If you don’t do this properly, I will have to _punish_ you.”

John wasn’t sure how Sholto managed to make a threat sound like a promise, but he moaned at the thought of the ways this wicked man could punish him. He imagined being bent over his knee and spanked, and he _trembled_ with need.

“Steady,” Sholto reprimanded him, not unkindly.

Taking a deep breath, John slowly peeled the underwear back, revealing a very big indeed erection. If Sherlock’s cock had been small and cute, red and perhaps about three and a half inches in length, Sholto’s was just gorgeous: hard and hot, long and thick, nestled in neatly trimmed gingery curls where Sherlock had little to no hair.

It should have felt foreign, it should have felt weird and perhaps a little bit scary, but John lunged forward, his eyes fluttering closed as he ran his lips along the shaft, his fingers wrapped around him just beneath the glans.

Sholto groaned and John felt a thrill of victory. He looked up through his lashes to find the man looking down at him with hungry eyes. John followed Sholto’s tongue with his eyes as the man licked his lips, and he imitated the movement with his tongue, running it along the hardness between his lips.

“Watson,” Sholto warned with military command, and John moaned softly against him.

He pulled back, stroking the Major’s cock with slow motions of his hand, licking his lips as he appraised his length and girth.

“Sir, it won’t fit all the way,” he tried to ward him, but Sholto pulled his hair again. He didn’t seem to care, so John swallowed his nerves – and the excessive saliva in his mouth – and leaned in once more.

He started slow, his lips wrapping around the very tip of Sholto’s cock, the foreskin pulled taut against the fat head, showing only the barest hint of his red glans and his slit. It was one of the most erotic things John had ever seen, and so he ran his tongue along the slit, tracing the foreskin with the tip before he began moving his hand again. The skin didn’t pull back, but John didn’t mind. He was too busy trying to figure out how to take as much of Sholto as he could in his mouth.

After a moment of hesitation, John slowly pushed forward, letting his lips slide around the firm flesh, down towards the root. He couldn’t get much in his mouth, though, his lips not even connecting with his fingers, now holding the base of the soldier’s erection.

Letting out a frustrated noise, John pulled back and tried again, breathing through his nose as he moved slowly downwards, manoeuvring Sholto’s cock so it would slid towards his throat instead of nudge his soft palate. But the moment the thick head touched John’s throat, he had to hastily pull away to cough.

Sholto’s hand on his head never pushed or pulled, merely a reminder of his position for the moment, but when John gagged a bit, those big fingers stroked his hair in a calming way.

“Seems like Watson isn’t any good at this task. Holmes, would you care to provide a demonstration?” Sholto’s voice rang in the room.

John felt his face and ears flush red with mortification, but he still pulled away as he watched Sherlock approach. Standing next to John, the doctor could see that Sherlock’s erection was still hanging out from his panties, proud and red, and John ached to put it back in his mouth.

But that wish would remain just a wish, because Sherlock knelt next to him and leaned forward, burying his face against Sholto’s taut lower stomach, licking and kissing at his abs before he began moving down.

John wanted to do the same, but he was held in place by Sholto’s hand, now firm on his hair.

“Heel, Watson,” he said with a smirk in his voice when the doctor moaned at the rough gesture.

So, John could only watch, enraptured, as Sherlock moved down, lapping at Sholto’s testicles and sucking on them before moving back to take his shaft in his mouth, all in one go, down until his nose was pressed against the curls at its base.

John had to blink a few times, because even though he was seeing it, it didn’t feel real. How was it even possible when John had chocked not even halfway down on it? Sherlock made a gurgling sound and closed his eyes in concentration as Sholto’s other hand grasped his hair as well, and the Major gave a shallow thrust.

“See, Captain? This is how a good cockslut does their job. You have a lot to learn,” he teased, panting slightly as he moved his hips, Sherlock’s lips stretched wide around him, a rivulet of saliva gathering at the corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin.

John couldn’t answer, but the Major didn’t seem to mind. He stopped thrusting into Sherlock’s willing mouth, and his relaxed jaw slowly began working, until Sherlock was slowly bobbing his head up and down Sholto’s erection.

Not wanting to just sit there but not knowing what else to do, John looked briefly up at Sholto’s face. His eyes were almost closed, his features tensing and relaxing with pleasure, and John reached forward to put his hand on his well-defined abs as they flexed with his and Sherlock’s movements.

Sholto’s eyes snapped to meet his, and John swallowed his nerves to ask, “Permission to touch, Sir?”

“Granted,” said Sholto with a grunt, and John smirked a bit. It was nice to see that the man was too distracted to reprimand him for acting before asking.

John tried to lean forward again, but he was held back by his hair once more. What a tease. With a huff, John decided to use his hands only. He ran his fingers along the hem of Sholto’s shirt for a brief moment, then slipped them beneath the fabric to feel the hot skin hiding just beneath it.

He loved the feel of Sholto’s hard muscles under his fingertips, the way his breath hitched as he stroked the fair hairs of his treasure trail backwards, up to his navel. John had to bite his lips as the man’s expression shifted, a deep moan leaving his throat. God, but he was _sensitive_ …

Shifting on his knees, John reached up the tall man’s body, stroking his left nipple gently, watching as he leaned in the contact for a brief moment before squirming away with a groan.

“Are you trying to distract me, soldier? Do you want me to come down Private Holmes’ throat? Is that what you want?” Sholto asked, harshly, tugging John back until he was forced to look into the Major’s face.

He could see the restraint there as the man panted, and when he glanced down through watering eyes he saw Sherlock moving even faster, deep-throating him as if he had no need for air.

John nodded frantically: he _did_ want to see that… No, better, “I want to see you come on his face,” he blurted out, only to gasp as Sholto pulled him and Sherlock both backwards. His erection bobbed free, dripping with Sherlock’s saliva and with precome, too big to stand upright.

Sherlock was panting as if he had run for miles, but he still moved his lips and worked his neck to try and reach Sholto’s straining erection. It was so filthy, and yet so damn arousing…

“Do you think you can give orders here, Captain?” Sholto asked, harshly.

John was too hard to even flinch.

“You have no authority whatsoever,” he continued. “You want someone to come on Private Holmes’ face? You do it!”

With that, Sholto pulled Sherlock to his feet as if he were weightless, and then pushed him down on the bed. John, suddenly free, could only stand up and approach the bed, unzipping his trousers as he went.

“Halt,” Sholto barked, making John’s fingers freeze around the button.

He didn’t move a muscle as Sholto began circling him, like a shark studying its prey. John stared straight ahead, to the wall rather than Sherlock’s enticing body, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control his reaction otherwise.

Then, Sholto came to a stop in front of him, in parade rest. His cock was still exposed to the air, and only a few inches from rubbing against John’s covered stomach. Sholto licked his lips, his eyes falling on John’s scarred shoulder.

John raised his arms as two warm hands reached to tug his undershirt over his head, closing his eyes. Then, before he could reopen them, a pair of firm lips was pressing against his own. He grunted softly and reached over, wrapping his arms around a strong neck as Sholto’s cock pressed against John’s belly, sending a surge of desire down his spine.

He moaned and pressed back against the major, not searching friction for himself as much as stroking the man’s erection with his body. The man seemed to appreciate, because those big hands moved to cup John’s arse, squeezing hard enough to make him moan, knees going weak. Thankfully, Sholto’s reflexes were good, and he held John up, pressing their bodies together even more closely.

As soon as John’s equilibrium was reassessed, his mouth was invaded by an eager tongue, as hot and demanding as its owner was. It moved around and explored, pressing deep into John’s mouth, hot and velvety, and John didn’t waste any time. He sucked on it, one of his hands going to run in the Major’s hair, pulling on the fine strands until he heard the taller man moan into his mouth.

Too soon, though, Sholto pulled away, his heated gaze falling on John’s face once more.

“Oh, so this is what you want?” the Major asked, pressing forward once more, his cock leaving a wet trail against John’s stomach.

The doctor could only tremble and nod, his eyes meeting Sholto’s. He could see his own reflexion in those dilated pupils, and he suddenly felt sheepish. Surely, he must have been a remarkable sight: dishevelled, hard in his pants, half-dressed but already covered in fluids from the other two men. His hair was probably spiked up, and his eyes must have been as dark as the soldier’s were.

John blushed and pressed his face against Sholto’s neck, the man’s scent strong and musky enough to make his head spin.

“I want you, sir. I’ve never… been with another man before, but I want you so, so badly, sir,” he whispered, looking up at him through his lashes.

That seemed to work, because Sholto lifted John by the arse and placed him on the bed, next to Sherlock.

The two men looked at each other with wide eyes, but soon enough their attention was caught once more by Major Sholto, who had reached to undo John’s trousers and pull them down and off.

John suddenly felt too exposed, his face flaming red as Sherlock reached to tug his pants off as well, leaving him naked on the bed. His cock bounced up when it was freed, only to fall with a wet _slap_ against his belly, still smeared with Sherlock’s saliva and Sholto’s precome. He brought his hands up to cover his face in mortification, but the sound Sherlock let out at the sight of him was nearly animalistic and John looked at the man with wide eyes.

Sherlock shifted until he was kneeling on the bed, still wearing all his undergarments, crumpled knickers included. Then, Sherlock moved down to engulf John’s shaft into his velvety mouth, pretty much as he had done with Sholto’s.

John could only gasp and shudder with pleasure, his hands flying to Sherlock’s silky curls.

“O-oh my God, how are you ev-ven doing tha-at!?” he asked, throwing his head back on the pillows.

He had seen Sherlock in action, and he knew that watching now would mean coming way too soon. Because, if before the sight alone had been enough to make his head spin, now John felt like he was about to explode. Sherlock’s mouth was hot and wet, but that wasn’t all: he was taking him deeper than any of John’s lovers ever had before, just like he had done with Sholto’s longer cock, as if the extra girth was nothing but a treat.

Sherlock’s tongue didn’t seem to have any problem sweeping about, running over John’s swollen glands, tracing the creases of John’s foreskin, even caressing the very top of his sack when his nose got all the way down against his pubic hair…

Suddenly, John felt two strong hands cupping his thighs and spreading his legs, and for a moment he felt adrenaline surge through his veins as he thought he was going to get fucked right then and there.

Instead, something even weirder happened, and he looked up in time to see Sholto’s head disappear between his legs, obscured by Sherlock’s. For a brief moment John imagined he was going to get blown by both men at once, but then something warm and wet nudged his entrance, making him yelp in surprise.

John screwed his eyes closed. He couldn’t believe what was happening, but his body could. His legs fell open on their own accord, offering more to Sholto, his fingers tightened against Sherlock’s scalp, and his hips stuttered up, thrusting harder into the man’s welcoming mouth. He felt trapped between two fires: from one side, Sherlock was working wonders on his cock, and from the other, Sholto was pushing his tongue inside John’s body, accustoming him to penetration.

God, it was going to happen, wasn’t it? Sholto was going to do it, to penetrate John, to _fuck him_.

He could hardly wait.

But all too soon he felt the tides of orgasm rising, and he pulled Sherlock gently back by the hair, closing his legs a bit.

“If you two keep this up I’m going to come right now,” he said weakly, his voice straining with the effort to sound even despite his laboured breathing.

Sholto hummed and made a show of licking his lips, while Sherlock nuzzled John’s chest like an amorous cat.

“Sir, Major Sholto, sir, am I allowed to ride Captain Watson’s cock?” he asked casually, sending a shudder to wreck John’s body.

“That you can, Private, but first we need to take care of all the preparations. You, knickers off, on your hands and knees,” he ordered, standing up to walk to the bedside drawer while Sherlock worked his panties off.

Sholto returned less than a minute later holding a pair of condoms and a tube of lubrication in his hand, Sherlock’s body in position, like he had been ordered, on John’s right.

John licked his lips as he watched the perfect curve of Sherlock’s round bottom, and his hands itched a bit with the need to slap the firm flesh.

“Spread your legs, Watson, and give me your hand,” Sholto ordered again, catching John’s attention.

He obeyed, extending his arm and offering his left palm. Sholto poured a generous amount of lube on it and nodded towards Sherlock.

“Prepare Holmes while I prepare you,” he said, and John didn’t need further encouragement.

He spread the lube on his fingers and reached back towards him, twisting enough so his fingers would reach. He licked his lips and slowly began circling Sherlock’s pink entrance, watching as the man moaned and shivered in pleasure. He had taken his bra off as well, only his stockings, garters and shoes in place, and he really looked like an angel escaped from someone’s debauched dream.

John moaned softly when he felt a couple of fingers rolling a condom down his prick, and he looked back to see that Sholto had adopted the same practical measure for himself.

Sholto knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed and began massaging John’s entrance just a few moments later. When John carefully pressed his fingertip inside of Sherlock, Sholto did the same to him. John gasped and turned around, only to find the man’s pale eyes focused on his finger, working its way inside of Sherlock. Understanding, John bit his lips and pressed the finger deeper inside of Sherlock, moving slowly, not wanting to hurt him.

True enough, at the same moment Sholto pressed his finger inside of John, making him grunt with light discomfort.

“Relax,” chided Sholto, looking at him with slight amusement on his face.

John took a few deep breaths, turning again and focusing on Sherlock rather than on himself. He had done this before in a medical environment, of course, and so he knew how to ‘move around’. He probed gently, looking for Sherlock’s prostate, rotating his wrist so that his fingers could curl upwards. Sholto must have realized what he was doing, because soon enough, almost as soon as John stroked Sherlock’s sweet spot, Sholto’s fingers hit his, making his back arch and his toes curl with electric pleasure.

John tried not to be too embarrassed by his moan, loud enough to drown out Sherlock’s higher-pitched squeal.

They set up a rhythm like that, made of fingers curling and caressing, of soft groans of pleasure and moans of ecstasy, of muscles being stretched by fingertips and knuckles alike, more and more, until all four of John’s left fingers were buried inside of Sherlock, and three of Sholto’s thicker ones were inside of John. But it was only when Sherlock cried out in need that they actually stopped.

“Please, sir! I need to feel the Captain’s cock inside of me!” he whined, making John groan in turn.

Sholto smirked. “Oh? I don’t think that’s what you were calling him when I interrupted you.” For all that he was trying to sound unaffected, Sholto’s breaths were coming out in small pants. John could only feel a pang of pride at that.

Sherlock’s cheeks turned red, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Please, sir, I want my daddy’s cock!” he whined, making John clench around Sholto’s fingers.

“Very well, Private. But wait for my permission,” the Major said, sounding far too self-satisfied for John’s liking.

Not that it wasn’t well deserved, to be fair. John’s brain was reduced to mush already, and it was a miracle that he hadn’t come already – a miracle he probably owed to Sherlock’s arse and the focus he had needed not to risk hurting him. Which, ultimately, meant that he owed it to Sholto.

Yes, alright. The man deserved to act smug. At least, as long as he didn’t hurt John with his huge–

 _Oh_.

John looked at Sholto, for the man had risen from where he was kneeling. He climbed on the bed and pushed John back, lifting his legs and pressing them down towards the doctor’s chest. John could only look at Sholto with wide eyes, biting his lips as not to let out small, embarrassing sounds.

He only just noticed that, despite his bunched down trousers and crumpled pants, Sholto was still completely dressed while he was stark naked. John had no idea why the thought was so arousing, but he shivered and bucked his hips upwards, needily.

“C’mon,” he groaned, more than eager to begin.

That got a smile out of Sholto, but he didn’t move. Instead, he glanced at Sherlock, now kneeling besides John’s head and waiting for his turn, and the man shuffled closer, taking Sholto’s erection in his hand and stroking it a couple of times, before pressing it against John’s hole.

He rubbed the tip against John’s entrance, circling it for a moment, making the doctor quake with desire, and then suddenly pushed it in. The movement was slow, the friction present despite the lubricated condom, and it was _maddening_. John wanted nothing more but for Sholto to pound hard into him, to claim him and fuck him until he couldn’t walk straight, until he couldn’t think, until he wouldn’t be able to feel anything but that big, fat cock for days.

“O-oh, please,” he whimpered, his hands going for Sholto’s shoulders, but he couldn’t reach.

The man seemed to notice, because he began pushing inside John, hunching forward until the doctor could hold onto him while he bottomed out.

“Breathe,” Sherlock whispered gently against John’s temple, kissing the damp skin and nuzzling his hair. “Oh, daddy, look at you… If you could see how hot you are…”

It was all almost too much. John’s erection had flagged a bit at the unfamiliar discomfort of being penetrated, but it quickly filled again as Sholto rotated his hips slowly, sensuously, the sensation almost torturous on John’s oversensitive body. Sherlock’s hand closed around John’s cock, stroking it briskly to help the process along, making sure John wasn’t in pain.

After a few moments of this, during which John felt in place like a jigsaw puzzle that had finally found its missing piece, Sholto finally started moving. He pulled out as slowly as ever, then pushed back in at the same pace.

For all that military act, John felt like he was a really gentle person. He was holding John’s hips tight, but not enough to bruise, and his eyes were warm with desire and kindness as he made sure not to hurt John.

The doctor felt his heart hammer in his chest, and he tugged the taller man down for a brief kiss on the lips.

“Faster,” he whispered when they parted. “I’m not going to break that easily.”

Sholto grunted, a small smirk on his lips at the challenge, but John could see that he didn’t mean it in a malicious way. He wasn’t going to try and break him, he was just going to show John what he was capable of.

The next thrust was deeper and faster than the previous ones. Sholto picked up his pace, and John was left gasping and grasping at his shoulders, his head thrown back.

“M-Major,” he whimpered, only to be silenced by a pair of soft lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found Sherlock hovering on top of him, his own verdigris eyes now dark with arousal and glinting with such mischief that John knew instantly he had misjudged both men. For all that Sherlock had acted innocent and almost virginal, while Sholto had been commanding and almost punishing, John could now see that Sherlock had a wickedness to him that made him incredibly sexy, while Sholto was slowly unravelling with the passion of their… well, ‘love-making’ was the only word John could think of using, no matter how his brain insisted it was out of place.

“James,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. “Call him James and watch him come undone.”

John bit his lips, his stomach fluttering with the prospect of insubordination. For all that this wasn’t an actual military environment, the thought of calling his commanding officer by his name…

“Oh, James,” John got out on the next moan, feeling Sherlock smirking against his skin.

Sholto gasped and his hips stuttered to a halt. John watched as the man squeezed his eyes shut to catch his breath.

“That’s very, very disrespectful,” he said, glancing at Sherlock before focusing his gaze on John. “I’m going to have to–”

“Punish us?” Sherlock finished the sentence for him with a naughty smirk.

Sholto narrowed his eyes and glared back at Sherlock.

“Get to work, Holmes!” he barked, but Sherlock seemed unfazed. Like the cat who’d gotten the cream and was now being praised instead of chastised for it.

John would have laughed, except that Sherlock straddled his lap and put his hands on John’s chest, that same smirk on his full lips.

Before John’s brain could catch up, a hand – Sholto’s - was stroking his erection and guiding it inside of Sherlock. John could only look with wide eyes as the brunette bit his lips and closed his eyes with concentration, a surge of red colouring his cheeks and neck, all the way down to his chest. There was no way the man could fake _that_ , and John suddenly understood just how sensitive the man must have been if he still blushed like a virgin despite the clear wickedness that came after years of… expertise.

John reached forward to put his hands on Sherlock’s hips, stroking upwards until he could rub the pad of his fingers over the man’s pink nipples, watching them harden instantly beneath his touch.

“You gorgeous thing,” John whispered, his words chocked with pleasure when Sherlock bore down and sat on John, his arse touching John’s thighs. “Fuck…”

In that moment, Sholto pushed back all the way into John, until the zipper of his trousers was pressing against John’s arse. The doctor could only shudder with pleasure. He felt full to bursting, his cock encased in Sherlock’s tight, hot body while James’ throbbed inside of him. He opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them, and looked up to see James kissing and nibbling along Sherlock’s bare shoulders and neck, his lips running up the man’s pale skin and along his jaw, until Sherlock was turning his head to kiss Sholto’s lips.

God, what a sight they made… It was so erotic that John thrust his hips upwards without meaning to, breaking their contact and making both men groan.

“S-sorry,” John panted, but Sherlock began rocking his hips on top of him, moaning brokenly.

“Oh, daddy, never apologise, you feel so good,” he said, his breath already coming out in small huffs.

Sholto chose that moment to snap his hips forward making John’s back arch once more as the head of his prick his John’s prostate perfectly.

“Found it,” James chuckled, grinning at the doctor from over Sherlock’s bouncing shoulder.

“I’m not going to last long,” John warned, looking between the two men, but they didn’t seem to share his concerns.

If anything, those words seemed to send Sherlock in a frenzy, because he began riding John’s cock hard and fast, squeezing around him whenever he moved up and sliding effortlessly back down. It was bound to drive John crazy, especially combined with Sholto’s strong, long thrusts as he began fucking John in earnest, without even pausing as he pushed and pulled almost savagely inside of him.

“J-Jesus,” John wheezed, almost unable to move: the pleasure was overwhelming, and he found himself trapped between those two gorgeous men, pinned down by their weight and strength.

It really didn’t take long for John to cry out and arch his back sharply, his head falling back on his pillow as he clenched his fists closed around Sherlock’s prominent hipbones, keeping him there as he gave a couple more thrusts, only to finally come inside him when James slammed once more into his sweet spot.

John had never come so hard in his life before, the combined stimuli driving him up the wall. Soon, Sherlock stopped rocking on top of him, his hips’ movements reduced to gentle undulations, while Sholto slowed to a halt.

“I’m still hard, daddy,” Sherlock whined needily, still not done, and John was about to point out that he was spent – and would stay spent for a while, after that – when James took the matter in his hands.

Careful not to hurt him, he pulled out of John, then went to grip Sherlock’s hips with his hands to pull him off of the doctor. The brunette gave a small yelp of surprise, and before he could complain, James was pushing inside him in one long, sure thrust.

“Oh!” Sherlock cried out, his eyes closing and his head falling back in ecstasy.

John stared for a moment as James picked up his pace and began fucking Sherlock in earnest, much harder than he had been doing with John, until the brunette was falling forward on his elbows, his chest rubbing against John’s.

Without needing any input, John reached forward between Sherlock’s legs and began stroking his leaking erection. He squeezed and massaged it with his hands as Sherlock pressed demanding kisses to his lips, which John returned eagerly.

He wanted to see both men come, and he wanted to be covered by evidence of it.

“Come on me,” he growled, biting on Sherlock’s bottom lip, and to his surprise the man did come almost immediately.

Sherlock’s cock pulsed and spasmed in his hand, shooting stripes of hot ejaculate on John’s awaiting belly, making the man shudder and moan again. But the cherry on their filthy cake was that John got to see as James closed his eyes and bowed his head, giving a few more frantic thrusts before he too stilled, muscles tense with pleasure as he emptied his load inside of Sherlock’s quivering body as it milked him dry.

They collapsed on a heap half on top of John, and for a few long minutes all they could do was try and catch their breaths, James and Sherlock still tangled together, John’s arms reaching for the both of them when he turned on his side.

It was Sherlock who broke the silence.

“That was… interesting,” he said, his voice low and rough.

“Just interesting?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “You seemed to enjoy yourself quite a lot…”

James grunted from behind Sherlock’s back, and John chuckled at his eyeroll.

“Okay, fine, it was _very_ interesting. I’d never been with two soldiers at once,” Sherlock admitted with a teasing smirk.

James pulled out of Sherlock, slowly, and then carefully disposed of both his and John’s condom, disappearing in the bathroom for a moment before returning with a damp flannel, which he used to wipe John’s stomach and arse, and then Sherlock’s.

“Well…” he started when he sat back on the bed, looking at John.

“Well,” John said. “There are many things I still want to try. I want to fuck you,” he said, looking appreciatively at James, “and I still need to get better at blowjobs. I want one of you to come down my throat.”

Sherlock hummed and nuzzled John’s neck with a smirk. “Might have to ask your wife first…” he purred.

John had almost forgotten about Mary, but he didn’t have the energy to feel guilty. He just let his eyes roam between the two men, and then said, “S’pose I’ll have to wait for Christmas…”

James smirked at him and put a hand on John’s spent cock.

“Why, are you busy for the rest of the night?”

John could only grin back at him.

“Now that I think about it… No, I don’t believe I am.”

Besides him, Sherlock chuckled and wrapped his arms around his body, to whisper in his ear.

“ _Good_.”


End file.
